A Saint and A Sinner Ch. 08

Chapter Eight

The team from the crime lab was still hard at work when Michelle got back to the victim's apartment. They, for the most part, ignored her as she stood in the doorway watching them work.

Pictures were being taken, evidence cataloged, fingerprint powder spread over every conceivable surface. The victim's bedroom was dark except for a bright blue spotlight that was slowly going over the surface of the bed.

It was amazing to watch. Each member of the team seemed to know exactly what their job was without being given any instruction from the primary criminologist. Evidence bags were stacking up quickly. One technician was taking fingerprints, dusting and tape lifting then cataloging as to where the print was taken from.

She was fascinated.

A hand touched her shoulder making her jump. She turned to see Jimmy Benitti standing grinning down at her.

"Dammit Jimmy, you enjoy doing that too much." She sounded more pissed than she was. He was always trying to scare people and she had secretly nicknamed him 'ghost'.

"Only to you kid, I like to watch your boobs flop."

She poked him in the arm with her fist hard enough to make him flinch. "My boobs don't flop. They bounce, and they do that firmly."

"Yeah, tell that to gravity." He rubbed his arm. "Where's your keeper? I don't see the leash today."

"He went to the lab to check out that note, I got off the leash for a couple of hours. But I tell you, I'm getting withdrawal."

"Yeah, he sure does like to keep you close," he said, hidden meaning evident in the sarcastic tone of voice.

"Watch it, Benitti, or I'll rat you out to Tankless about those three hour lunches at the strip club in Capac." She smirked as he flinched again.

"Ouch, how'd you find out about those."

She smiled coyly. "A good cop and a good reporter never, ever tell their sources."

They were quiet for a moment, watching the mountain of evidence grow.

"So what happened with the Sheriff?" Jimmy finally asked.

"The usual. He blew a ton of smoke and now I get to act as liaison between Nick and the Sheriff. I get to play go between and keep him informed on the case." Bitterness seeped into her tone.

"I don't envy you that job, kid." He patted her on the back, hand creeping downward towards her

butt until she glared at him and grabbed it.

"Jimmy you are a pig."

"That's why I became a cop, kid. I was already half way there." He laughed as she rolled her eyes at the poor attempt at humor. "If you're sticking around kid, I'll take off. I missed out on lunch today." He pulled out his wallet and showed her a whole handful of dollar bills.

"Jeez, Jimmy. I was just kidding about the strip club," she said rolling her eyes at him again.

He laughed and took off, leaving her in charge of the crime scene. It wasn't the best job for her since they had uniformed officers downstairs keeping the press back. If Jimmy left, Michelle would be the one to give them orders. The uniforms would really love that, half of them had been giving her shit about working with the detectives anyways. She had even heard rumors spreading that the only reason Nick was letting her work the case was to get her in bed.

In bed with Nick. The thought brought a rosy glow to her cheeks. She could imagine that only too well, how he would taste, how he would feel under her hands.

The scene in his office shouldn't have happened. You never get involved with anyone where you worked. It was too messy and too complicated after it was done. It would be especially so with someone like Nick. She could imagine white picket fences and two point five kids with him if she really let herself. And she wouldn't let herself.

But damn could he kiss. She could still taste him on her lips when she licked them. It was a distraction she couldn't afford, especially now.

Lisha stepped into her range of view.

"Well, hey sugar." Her voice was syrupy with false friendship. "Where's Nicky at? He get kicked off the case?"

You'd like that wouldn't you, Lisha, she thought, trying to get the image of ripping the woman's expertly styled hair out. "No, he's at the lab with the letter."

God, the woman was annoying. She was dressed in tight black jeans and a black tank top that clung like a second skin. Her hair was loose around her head in clouds of red waves that fell to her mid back. She had a walk like a jungle cat in heat. And if that accent wasn't fake, Michelle was a brunette.

"And here I thought Tanner was going to take the two of you off the case." Lisha checked her carefully manicured fingernails for chips as she kept her voice light and friendly in her search for gossip.

What a bitch. She was probably the one that spilled the information to the Sheriff in the first place. Michelle had a hard time smothering the urge to knock the redhead on her ass.

"Sheriff Williams just wanted an up date. Nick is still primary on the case." No thanks to you. She could be just as hypocritical as Lisha was, even if it did leave a bad taste in her mouth. She smiled back at her. "It was amazing how quickly he found out about the apartment, Lisha. I mean, we had barely gotten here before he showed up."

Lisha shrugged her tan shoulders, looking down at her manicure once more before snapping on another set of thin latex gloves. "He must have a pretty good network of ears in the department. You know, girl, he is the Sheriff." Lisha turned her back on Michelle, with a casual wave of gloved fingers, and strolled away, effectively dismissing her.

It's too bad she was so claustrophobic. Prison might be worth the satisfaction of putting an entire generation of men out of their misery and doing in the little cat. Her fingers were itching to wrap around the grip of her gun so she hurriedly turned her attention to something else.

The crime scene people were packing up their stuff, depositing latex gloves into evidence bags, dotting i's and crossing t's in case of trial. They gathered up the evidence to take back to the lab and left the apartment, Michelle coming up behind them. She locked the door with the key that Jimmy had left her, smoothed on the crime scene--do not pass--notice so that it covered the crack in the door and walked down the stairs to assign one lucky deputy watch duty.

As luck would have it, every officer there had at least five years seniority in and didn't appreciate being given orders by the new kid. She finally had one officer take pity on her, an older guy that she had never met before who worked with the Imlay City Police. He didn't know who she was or that she was only a lowly deputy, low man on the totem pole and only in plain clothes because she was supposedly sleeping with the detective in charge.

Damn. She'd heard of bad hair days, this was the dozy of all time.

She glanced at her watch. She had been officially off duty for three hours. She had missed lunch, missed dinner and the sun was getting low over the trees. She hadn't heard from Nick since she had left him hours ago. He had never called about the letter or what it said.

She was upset, tired, hungry and cranky. She'd had about six hours of sleep this week and most of that had been at Nick's place on his lumpy couch. Michelle made up her mind, she was going to go home, forget about the case. She was going to climb into the huge claw foot tub full of hot, scented water and forget she had ever heard the name Nicholas Saint.

She climbed into her car and turned down the road that would take her to Interstate 69 the quickest way back to Lapeer. She drove home, stopping in Lapeer to pick up some drive through dinner and then went to her place.

Her apartment was dark and closed up, hot after the sun had baked in the drapes half of the day.

She opened all the windows and turned on the two fans she had, one in her bedroom window, the other in the tiny living room. The people who had rented this place before her had owned cats, and from the smell left in the carpet, they hadn't been much on changing the litter box.

She sat her dinner on the kitchen counter and put on a kettle of hot water, taking down her favorite cup and a tea bag. Her body was craving a drink to help her relax from the day but she refused to give in to it. In one of the stress management classes that had been a requirement for a degree in law enforcement, the instructor had harped that drinking alcohol after a long day on the job could lead to performance problems.

She might not automatically believe that but she wasn't taking a chance.

She took her tea and sandwich with her into the bathroom, opening the window above the toilet and pulling the blinds back. Her apartment looked out over her neighbor's dog pen. A beautiful sight, the big ugly dog, his toys, food and assorted messes.

The taps on the big tub were old and squeaked when she turned them, the water taking forever to get hot. Michelle waited patiently before shoving in the white rubber plug and adding her favorite scented oil. She took off her shoulder holster and wrapped it around her duty weapon. It went into the drawer next to her bed. Her 22 was taken was already out of her ankle holster and left in the kitchen cupboard that housed her cereal. She went back to the bathroom and finished undressing.

The water was hot and felt wonderful when she climbed in. She relaxed, leaning her head against the raised back of the tub. This luxury was worth every other hardship the rest of the apartment had, the terrible heating system, lack of air conditioning. She'd live through it all just for a soak in a deep tub. She turned the water off with her toes and closed her eyes, willing her brain to turn off.

Ten minutes later, frustrated and angry at herself, Michelle got out of the tub and let the water drain, pulling on her old cotton robe without drying off. She pulled the clip out of her hair and grabbed her tepid tea and cold hamburger and walked out of the bathroom, muttering under her breath.

Damn him for invading her bath. All she wanted was a few minutes to relax and forget. Instead, she had closed her eyes and felt his lips against hers. The heat of the water had reminded her of the heat of his skin under her fingers. It's scent had brought notions of romance and seduction, of lips and tongues entwined and dancing hungrily. Nick had invaded her mind as much as much as she wanted him to invade her body, setting up permanent residence in his own special niche.

She dumped the hamburger in the trashcan in the kitchen and dumped the tea down the drain. The sun had set but it was still light enough in the place to not need lights yet. She wandered into the living room, carefully avoiding boxes that still needed unpacking. Curling up on her second hand couch, she looked out the open window and watched the cars stream by on the interstate less than a mile away.

So much for getting away from it all for a while.

Michelle wrapped her arms around her cotton covered legs and snuggled down into the cushions resting her chin and closing her eyes.

Crime scene photos flashed in her imagination, a shadowy figure superimposed over the tortured bodies of the two girls. Who was this man who was doing this? Why was he picking these girls? What did they have that fueled his needs? His needs revolved around his fantasies, but what fantasies? These girls played a part, fulfilled a purpose. What purpose?

Too many questions and not enough answers. Too little evidence. Nick had started cops out knocking on doors, trying to find out the last day that Sheri had been seen. They were trying to get information on possible boyfriends, enemies, co-workers, something.

Who knows, by now he might already have the information he needs to make an arrest. Maybe that was why he didn't call. Or maybe he was embarrassed by the scene this afternoon in his office when she had about pushed him down on his desk and...

She buried her face in her legs. God knows, she was embarrassed enough for both of them.

* * * *

What was he doing here? She wasn't going to want to see him. She hadn't called him all day, even though he had been expecting it. She hadn't come back to the station after closing up the crime scene. Nick had thought about calling her at home and changed his mind, instead hopping into his car and driving over. If he'd called, she could have told him not to come over. And he wanted to see her.

That kiss had been on his mind all day. That hot, molten kiss that had blown him away. He'd never kissed anyone who'd responded the way she had, who'd pushed his buttons as well. Oh yeah, he knew all the reasons that they shouldn't get involved with each other, not least of all was departmental policy. But they were stupid reasons when his body was telling him that what he wanted, what he needed couldn't be wrong.

So he stopped on the way over and picked up some of her favorite Chinese food. At least if she was going to throw him out, he could make sure she had something to eat. And if Michelle didn't throw him out, well, maybe they could warm it up later tonight and eat it in bed.

Yeah, Saint, keep dreaming.

He parked next to her car and walked up the outside steps to her front door. She was on the second floor, the poorly made wooden steps uncovered and uneven. This winter, they would be icy and dangerous. She needed an awning or maybe some outdoor carpeting tacked down on them. Nick made a mental note to get some and do that.

Her apartment was dark. He could hear fans running in the open windows but no sounds that she was awake, no one moving in the apartment. He knew she had a TV, but also knew she didn't spend much time watching it.

He was about to knock on the door when he heard a noise and then a shrill cry from inside. He dropped the bag and banged on her door, cursing at the heavy wood. He grabbed the handle and shook it then prepared to take a step back ready to kick it in when it opened.

She stood there in a damp cotton bathrobe that clung to her skin. Her face was flushed, eyes sleepy, hair hanging down over her shoulders in mussed waves of spun gold. She blinked owlishly at him as if she couldn't quite fathom who he was and what he was doing at her door making all that racket.

"Are you all right?" He grabbed her arms, pushing her back into the apartment and looking around as if he would spot an intruder and could kick his ass. "What happened?"

"What are you talking about?" This was a nightmare. She must still be dreaming, that was it, she was still sleeping...

"You screamed." He was still looking around her, pushing past to check the other rooms in the small apartment.

"I screamed." She tested the words in her mind, then shrugged her shoulders. She was awake now. "I didn't scream." She chased him down the hall to her bedroom. "I said, I didn't scream. Dammit, Nick, what are you doing?"

"Okay, well maybe, technically, it wasn't a scream. But you did cry out. I heard you." He was rambling. Her bedroom smelt like sweet sin. It had to be some kind of oil or candle, or maybe just the scent of her skin. He breathed it in deeply before turning, reluctantly to walk out.

That smell, her smell, would stay with him, he wouldn't be able to forget it.

"I fell asleep on the couch," she said defensively. "I must have been dreaming." The dream, a nightmare, returned in full force, flooding her mind.

The dark shape standing over her, light glittering on a long deadly knife, their killer had attacked her. She had tried, desperately, to fight him off but he only laughed and started stabbing at her with that sharp blade. She'd been able to feel the blood from the wounds he had inflicted, smell it's coppery scent in the air around here even as she had fallen to the floor. Her hands had come up to defend herself, protect herself somehow and she had knocked off the hat that had kept his face so deeply in the shadows.

A scream born not of physical pain, but of terror and deep emotional pain had been wrenched from her. It was Nick standing over her with the knife, Nick killing her. Oh, God. Her hand went to her throat, gathering the plain cotton closer to her.

He saw the trembling hand that she pressed against her mouth, her face suddenly pale, her eyes panicky. Nick reached out and took her arms, afraid that she might fall or run away or be sick or... something.

"Are you okay?" his voice was husky with concern and the adrenaline that was still running through his system.

"Fine." Even her voice sounded strange to her ears. Michelle pulled away from him and walked into the living room, standing off to the side of the couch. She desperately needed to get control of herself and to do that, he couldn't be touching her. "What are you doing here?"

Wow, to say she wasn't happy to see him was an understatement. This was a mistake, Nicky boy. A big mistake.

"I thought you might like to know what the letter said, the one we found at the apartment, you know, the case we're working on." No, that wasn't bitterness or sarcasm in his voice. He didn't sound cynical. "You didn't call me back today after you left the scene."

He walked over to the door, opened the screen and picked up the bag of Chinese that he had dropped. The little white boxes it was packed in had kept it from spilling. He brought it over and handed it to her. "And I brought you some dinner. When I talked to Jimmy, he said that you hadn't left the scene all afternoon, I thought you might be hungry."

"You talked to Jimmy?"

Was that confusion in her voice? "Yeah, I told him to have you call me. I radioed him at his car, I didn't have my cell phone with me today."

She was looking at him strangely. "You never called me back. I thought..." he let his voice die out. She didn't need to know that he thought she hadn't wanted to speak to him because he had forced himself on her. She hadn't asked him to fall on her like a depraved lunatic at a sex shop. She didn't deserve what he had done or any recriminations he might have for having done it.

"You thought?" she prompted curiously wanting to know where he was planning on taking that statement.

"It doesn't matter," he said quickly, shaking his head. "Do you have any lights in this place? I brought over a copy of that letter and some of the crime scene reports on what they found at her apartment, I thought we might work on it a little. If you wanted," he hastily added. He motioned to the bag of food. "And I'm hungry, I thought we could eat before we worked. You know I always think better on a full stomach." He tried smiling that old charming Nick Saint boyish grin and hoped he pulled it off.

Her stomach gurgled loudly, reminding her of the hamburger she hadn't eaten because of this man in front of her. The smell of the Chinese food wafted temptingly up to her. She could smell chicken and hot spicy goodness and that was all it took.

"Okay," she said as she headed for her kitchen and silverware. "But only because I don't want the food to go to waste." She looked over her shoulder and grinned back at him as he turned on the lamp next to her couch. "And here, all I thought I wanted tonight was peace and quiet." She shook her head. "I should've known those two words aren't in your dictionary, Nick."